Possessed
by happyday girl
Summary: After some Musketeers return from a mission talking of ghostly activity at an old house, the King sends the Inseparables to investigate. What they encounter there tests their bonds, their courage, and their faiths. Rated T. A Mission Fic with a twist.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I couldn't keep away, it seems...^^ This is going to be quite different than my normal offerings, but rest assured it will still contain whump, hurt/comfort and lots of brotherly feels! I hope you enjoy this first chapter!**

 **Onwards...**

'Honestly,' Porthos grumbled, cricking his neck and groaning as he tried to shake fresh life into his tired feet, 'how long can an afternoon be?'

'At least three hours more, I'm sure.' Athos answered at his side. He and the others were presently stood on a leafy river bank, keeping watch as the King and the long suffering Queen stood on a small bridge to their right- the Queen watched dutifully as the King threw a branch into the slow-moving stream before turning and hurrying to the other side, a grin on his face as he watched his solitary stick float away downstream.

The previous two days had seen a barrage of rainy and stormy weather, keeping the King cooped up in the palace with nothing to do but speak to his advisors and tend to King-like responsibilities. The King had bemoaned his duties and begged Treville to let him go out into the flooded streets, but the rain was such that the Captain was loath to let him out of the sight of his Musketeers. The Queen had given up on her reading and sewing after more than twenty interruptions by her Husband in one afternoon- everyone was relieved when the clouds finally broke and the sun came shining down once more.

The king, naturally, was now full of energy, and no amount of walking or fencing could satiate it, which was why they had come to the small stream at the bottom of the palace grounds to wear him out (like an overexcited puppy, Porthos joked as they walked down behind them.)

'Aren't you supposed to play this game with more than one person?' D'Artagnan whispered to Aramis, who stifled a smile as he flexed his gloved hands to stop them going to sleep.

'No one else wanted to play.' He answered quietly. 'Don't talk too loud, or you'll give him ideas.'

As if by magic, the king huffed dramatically and turned to his protecters on the bank. 'Who wants to fight me in a duel?' He called over to them, voice only slightly at whining pitch. 'This is getting terribly boring!'

'To the death?' Porthos whispered in a tone so low only Athos could hear him. Athos chanced a look round, before clearing his throat. 'Pick your adversary,Your Highness,' he called back.

'Hmmm...' The king muttered, putting a finger on pursed lips and looking over the Musketeers. 'How about...' His gloved finger wavered as he pointed vaguely in their direction, 'You!' He cried, finger aimed at d'Artagnan.

'Damn,' he whispered, before plastering on a huge smile as Aramis clapped him on the back and pushed him forwards. 'Go get him!' He muttered, 'but not _too_ hard, alright?'

'What if I hurt him by accident?' D'Artagnan asked as he unsheathed his sword.

'It'll be termed treason and you'll be duly arrested.' Athos deadpanned, holding out his hand for the Gascon's coat.

'Certain death shall follow, of course.' Porthos grinned, laughing as d'Artagnan gave him a panicked look.

'No one has ever accepted the King's challenge before.' Aramis shrugged. 'We normally just find a way to weasel out-'

'You didn't tell me I could refuse!'

'Well, you've taken your coat off now, haven't you?' Athos replied, quirking an eyebrow. 'Just make sure you lose.'

'But don't lose too well,' Porthos warned, winking, 'otherwise he may state you're no good and demand your resignation from the garrison.'

'Right,' d'Artagnan nodded, taking a deep breath. 'Lose, but don't lose too convincingly. Don't hurt him, and I'll be fine...'

'Atta boy.' Aramis grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. 'Off you go now, before he gets bored and decides he'd rather fight with muskets than swords.'

'What?-'

'Are you ready over there?!" The King's voice made all four men turn around. The king had also taken off his coat, and was wielding a sword in his hands. 'I've been waiting for hours!'

'Coming, Your Highness!' D'Artagnan called back, before turning to his friends again, 'wish me luck?'

'You won't need it, go on!' Athos muttered, nodding his head at the waiting King. 'You'll be fine.'

D'Artagnan nodded and trudged up towards the King, who was wafting the sword around in what he must have thought as a professional manner.

'I warn you,' he muttered to d'Artagnan as he came closer, 'I've never lost a match.'

Knowing this to be perfectly untrue, d'Artagnan merely nodded with a smile at the sentiment and got into the stance to start the match- the king followed suit, and they spent a few seconds staring at each other; the king most probably thought this was part of the match, but d'Artagnan was spending these precious moments figuring out what to do.

'Are you ready or what?' The king finally moaned, standing up with a pout. 'I didn't realise fencing meant so much standing around!'

'My apologises, your highness.' D'Artagnan quickly muttered, before resuming his stance. 'Ready?'

'And waiting!' The king snapped- seconds later, and the crowd that had gathered around them started muttering and whispering amongst themselves.

From their stance standing on the river bank, the inseparables could see what the people below them couldn't- Treville and two musketeers were riding up to them, their faces set in an expression Aramis couldn't quite place.

'Oh, now what?!' The king yelled with a huff, throwing his sword to the damp grass and stalking over to see what the fuss was all about.

'Captain Treville is riding up, your highness.' Athos reported as the King came to a stop next to him. 'Oh, what does he want?' The king groaned, 'can't he leave me alone for five minutes?'

'It looks like he brings news, Sire.'

'Oh,' the King now looked vaguely hopeful. 'I wonder what it is?'

'No doubt he will tell you soon, your highness.' Aramis commented, before Treville came to stop near them, came down from his horse and walked over to them. 'I apologise for this interruption, your-'

'Yes, yes, that's quite alright-' the king interrupted. 'I didn't want to start that fight anyway- what news do you bring me?'

Treville looked from his musketeers to the large crowd he was now aware was hanging on to his every word. 'Perhaps this would be better in private, your highness?' He muttered, nodding his head dutifully as Anne came down to stand next to her husband. 'At the palace?'

'Fine,' the king muttered with a nod as the musketeers started to get ready to move again. 'Lets go back then... Lord _knows_ this day needed an interruption like this...'

* * *

'A what?' The king's voice was high with humour as he processed Treville's words.

'A...haunting, sire.' The Captain repeated, actually aware of the Cardinal's expression at the King's side. The man was positively bursting to laugh at him, but Treville knew he wouldn't dare in front of the King.

'A haunting?' The king laughed. 'In a haunted house?'

'I am led to believe that is where most hauntings occur, yes.' Treville spoke through gritted teeth. This was just as humiliating as he knew it was going to be.

'I'm sure this is just a fantasy tale to amuse bored men...'

'My men are no liars.'

'Perhaps they were drunk?' The cardinal spoke up, casting a barbed look over at the four musketeers in the corner, eyes hovering over Athos in particular.

'On duty?' Treville shot back. 'I think not.'

'It wouldn't be the first time...' The cardinal offered, before taking a deep breath. 'What did your men say they saw?' He entertained, steepling his fingers and stepping back.

Treville cleared his throat, and began his tale of why he had interrupted the King's afternoon. 'I sent four men to deliver a message to a Comte two shires over from the city. It took them a couple of days due to the wet weather, and on the way back they stopped at Maison Aubépine,' he started, watching as the Cardinal raised a pointed eyebrow at him.

'Oh, please,' he muttered, rolling his eyes. 'I thought it had been raised to the ground after the ransacking.'

'As did I,' Treville replied, 'but it appears we are mistaken.'

D'Artagnan looked across at his three friends at their reactions to Treville's words; Aramis was particularly stoic, and stood with his hands clasped in front of him, staring at a point just above Queen Anne's left shoulder. Porthos and Athos had shared a glance, the young Gascon noted, and he thought it was all to do with the name of the house.

'Well, go on,' the king muttered, tutting, 'I haven't got all day!'

'Yes, your majesty,' Treville nodded, before resuming his soliloquy. 'They decided to camp in the main house for the night and make their way back to Paris in the morning- however, due to, uh...certain _happenings_...they decided to make haste to the city. They arrived at about two o'clock this morning, tired and frightened out of their wits.'

'Your strong, courageous musketeers?' The cardinal's voice was high with sarcasm. 'Scared out of their wits? This is precious!'

'I thought they had overreacted, yes,' Treville nodded, looking to Athos for some support; he had been present along with Treville when the men had arrived, sopping wet and bumbling about bumps in the night.

He cleared his throat and stepped towards a little. 'These men have survived a war, and are veterans of the garrison,' he started, wanting to make that clear at the beginning. 'They are no fools, or drunkards-' he shot a look at the cardinal, who smiled sardonically at him. 'They seemed quite sure in their accounts.'

'What accounts?!' The king explained, raising his eyes to the ceiling. 'You haven't told us anything yet!'

'They told of...crashes and bangs in the empty house, your majesty,' Athos muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up a little as he spoke. 'They said their equipment began to move by itself. Disembodied voices could be heard, they said, and strange smells permeated the air.' He looked across to Armais, whose face remained impassive. 'They tried to stay the night, however when they heard some..' He sighed, before carrying on with his next sentence. 'Some evil laughter, they bolted and decided they'd rather ride through the rain than stay there.' He stepped back as the king began to chuckle, wishing Treville had carried on instead of roping him into it.

'You trouble the king, on this fine day...' The cardinal swept forwards, eyes flashing as he hoped to get the captain of the musketeers into disrepute. '...for whimsy tales of crashes and bangs in an old, rickety house?' He looked across to the king, who now looked thoughtful.

'I say these men have had too much mead on their ride and now need a fanciful tale to make them look good to their friends-'

'I assure you, my men would not make up-'

'Oh, of course, because your men are _so-'_

 _'_ Did your men see anything?' The king butted in, a finger on his chin and an interested look on his face. 'Say, a phantom or headless coachmen?'

'Sire,' the Cardinal started, eyes wide as he looked from the king to Treville. 'You cannot possibly-'

'I want an answer to my question, damn you!' The king snapped- Treville witheld a smile as the Cardinal stepped backwards, nodding his apologies.

'My men would not say, your highness,' Treville admitted, head slightly bowed. 'After telling us what they did they bolted for the nearest tavern.'

'Hmm..' The king muttered, before he started pacing the floor. D'Artagnan looked to Athos, who quirked an eyebrow in his direction as they all waited for the king's response.

Finally, he stopped and swivelled on the balls of his feet, facing Treville and his musketeers. 'I cannot deny I am interested in this sort of thing,' he started, voice low and dramatic. Porthos let out a long, deep sigh, but low enough so only Aramis on his left heard it and understood it's connotations.

'I propose,' he stated, clasping his hands together with a gleeful smile on his face, 'that these...incidents, are investigated at once!'

'Investigated?' The cardinal echoed, who looked like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. 'Your highness, I am sure it was just pranks pulled by village children...nothing more than that.'

'Nonetheless,' the king replied, voice hard now. He was interested, and nothing could waver it. 'I would like to see this followed up.' He turned to Treville, who stood straighter as the king addressed him directly.

'I want a report on this...what did you call it?'

'Maison Aubépine, sire.'

'Yes, that- I want your men to investigate and bring me evidence of these happenings.'

'Evidence?!' The cardinal now sounded positively deranged- he shot a look at Treville, who gave him a minute shrug in return. 'There is no evidence-'

'I shall be the judge, cardinal!' The king snapped, before turning to the musketeers in front of him. 'I want an impartial man to judge for himself whether or not he thinks this place is truly haunted..' He muttered, looking them over. He pointed to Aramis, who gave the king a slight head bow to show his agreement. 'You're a God fearing man, are you not?'

'That I am, your majesty,' Aramis replied.

'You believe in evil spirits? Of phantoms and ghouls?'

'I...cannot say I have ever given the matter much thought,' the musketeer admitted, although a tinge of hypocrisy coated his words, 'I look to the light, to the righteous side...'

'Marvellous- you can be my impartial judge! If something spooks you, I will know something is afoot! What say you?'

'It will be an honour to act as judge for you.' Aramis answered in a somewhat stiff voice, but he smiled and gave a bow all the same, trying to avoid eye contact with Anne as he did so.

'Excellent!' The king explained. 'You will stay there for three days, and I expect a full written report with drawings and witness accounts by the end of it!'

'...It will be a pleasure, my liege...' Aramis said, now through gritted teeth as he faced the prospect of writing, something he was loathe to do unless absolutely necessary . He caught Porthos grinning at him and dug him in the side with his elbow as the king turned away.

'Right- you three can go with him!' He threw out the gesture to the others, who nodded their heads at the order. 'Off you go then!' He called, before making to walk out.

'Your majesty?' The cardinal called, voice thick and silky. Seven faces turned to look at him, and the king sighed before asking 'yes, cardinal?'

'These are Treville's men.' The cardinal stated, obviously feigning concern. 'No doubt friends to the musketeers who told this story.'

'Your point?' Treville barked, one hand already on the doorknob.

'I was just thinking...they could be in league to make up stories... To feign happenings for their own ends-' He paused for effect, before carrying on swiftly as Treville and Athos opened their mouths furiously to rebute him. 'I propose you send three Red Guards along with them. Impartial advisors, if you will.' He crossed his arms, black robes billowing. 'Then you will have proof in their accounts if something were to occur.'

'Oh, very well...' The king muttered, before waving them off. 'You all leave tonight!' He called, before crossing the room with the queen, the door slamming behind them.

The cardinal flowed past, casting the musketeers and Treville a triumphant look. 'Don't get too scared!' He teased in a low whisper, before opening the door and striding out.

As the five of them began to make their own way out, all they could hear was the cardinal's laughter as he walked down the long corridor to the grounds outside.

 **Thanks for reading! It will get (hopefully) a bit scarier as the chapters go one, but I hope you'll join me for this ride!**

 **Please review, I would love to know your thoughts!**

 **x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! I know it's been quite some time since I've posted anything here...The urge to write and post fics completely deserted me, and for that I do apologise. I'm just putting my feelers back out; just testing the water to see if anyone would still read and enjoy my stuff...if you do, great! I promised that I would finish my Musketeers fics, and I don't intend to break that promise. It might just be a little...slow. Thank you for your patience, as ever!**

 **Onwards!**

What did a person take ghost hunting? D'artagnan was damned if he knew; candles? A crucifix? Holy water? He just had no idea... he settled for normal, mission based equipment; clothes, rations, bullets and socks. If only he remembered where he'd left his Bible...

'And where do you think you're off to?' D'Artagnan turned at the words, an undershirt crumpled in one hand as he made to shove it into his cloth bag. Constance surveyed him from the doorway to his room, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked. 'I've just made dinner,' she added, tapping a boot heel onto the wooden floor.

'Can you make it for the road?' D'Artagnan asked, eyes hopeful; he did so appreciate Constance's cooking, among other things.

'No, it'll spoil,' Constance replied, lips pursed in a stern look, before the corners of her mouth betrayed her and her expression dissolved into a small smile. 'Why didn't you tell me you were going?'

'I didn't know myself until just now.' D'Artagnan shrugged, stuffing a pair of trousers into the bag and flinging it on his bed as he hunted for his belt. He bent down under the bed, scrabbling round the haphazard sheets to locate it. 'I'm going ghost hunting!' He called from the floor, voice muffled.

'Ghost hunting?' Her tone was dubious, questioning, 'What do you mean, ghost hunting?'

'Well I'm...' D'Artagnan picked himself up from the floor and came to stand next to her with belt in hand, wiping dust off his sleeves. 'Hunting for ghosts.' He quirked an eyebrow at her, a smile bouncing on his face, 'I thought that part was self explanatory,' he teased. He spied his Bible on his bedside table and hastily dropped it into his bag before tying it, placing it on his bed and crossing to the window where he kept a small pot of coins. Just in case, he thought as he put the contents in his pocket before turning back to a smiling Constance.

Constance chuckled and batted his shoulder, 'So where are you hunting these ghosts?' She asked, watching as d'Artagnan crossed to the bed and picked up his bag, before flinging it over his shoulder.

'Some place called Maison Aubépine,' he replied, shrugging. 'I think it's just an old house...' He stopped as he caught her expression. 'What?'

Constance's face was pinched in worry; she took his hand and squeezed it. 'Promise me you'll look after yourself.' She whispered, eyes wide with an unreadable expression. 'And the others,' she added.

'I will,' he smiled, running his thumb over the top of her soft hand to reassure her. She still didn't look happy, so he pulled her into an embrace; his confusion piqued as she squeezed him right around the middle and put her head onto his chest. 'Just make sure you do.'

'Constance, what-' they sprang apart as they heard boot falls on the stairs. They peered round the door like naughty children, before relaxing as Aramis poked his head through the door.

'Front door was open,' he smiled, nodding his head politely at Constance as she smoothed down her dress. 'My Lady.' He said with a grin, before doffing his head at d'Artagnan.

'Come on then, if we must go...'

'Coming,' the younger man muttered, taking one last look around his room to see if he had forgotten anything. The two men straightened up to leave, but as Aramis led the way to the door he suddenly found Constance blocking his way.

She looked up at him, worry still creasing her face. 'Now you look after him!' She warned, pointing a finger at the older musketeer.

'Me, look after him?' Aramis nodded his head to d'Artagnan with an easy smile. 'My lady, it is him that will be looking after me, I'm sure of it!'

Constance broke into a smile, before stepping through into the hallway to let the two men pass. 'Good luck,' she called to them as she followed them down the stairs and outside, where Athos and Porthos were also waiting.

'Thank you, my lady,' Aramis tipped his hat at her, before climbing onto his horse. 'Come on,' he called, 'we may yet make it by nightfall!'

'Bye,' d'Artagnan spoke from atop his own horse. 'See you later.'

'You better do, mister!' Constance smiled, before standing back as the four men trotted away from her down the cobbled streets, until she could no longer make them out among the throng of people bustling in the streets.

* * *

'You should have run faster,' Porthos grumbled, shivering and tightening his coat around him on his horse . 'You're the youngest.' He added, a frown on his face as the evening wind blew around them.

'That fat one over there tripped me,' d'Artagnan retorted from atop his own horse, nodding his head at the offender.

'Either that or you tripped on your own boots.' Athos muttered, tugging on his thick gloves.

'I didn't trip!' The Gascon replied, before sniffling. 'I was brazenly pushed!' He corrected in a defiant tone.

'Lets just make the most of it,' Aramis muttered from their side, hands poised on his reigns. The four of them were slowly making their way to the house behind a large carriage which currently held three slumbering Red Guards. The carriage had been a gift from the king for their journey of royal importance, so naturally there was some rivalry over who would get to ride in it that morning.

In a spurt of childlike competition, started by the red guards, of course, the two rival groups (once out of eyesight of the King, Treville, and the Cardinal) had raced to the carriage, knowing full well that neither group would get in and travel together. Besides, there wasn't room for both the musketeer's and the guards in there, after all.

Athos, who merely walked slowly behind his racing colleagues, surveyed the scene with no more than a small smile at the comical sight of six grown men in full uniform running full pelt towards a humble wooden carriage. Alas, the red guards had won, much to his silent, dignified disdain.

'Lets just spook the horses...' Porthos murmured wistfully from atop his horse, raising his hands to clap them loudly. He was annoyed that the Red Guards had no real right to be here with them, so didn't deserve the trappings that went with it.

'Don't.' Athos spoke, 'let's just get this over with, and we can all go back home.'

Porthos sat back in his saddle with a sigh, before giving a dark chuckle and d'Artagnan shook his head.

'So, what's the deal with this house?' The younger man asked- Athos opened his mouth to answer, but before he could there was a deep voice from inside the carriage.

'What, you don't know the story?' It asked, before a large, mustachioed Red Guard lent out the window to survey them- Aramis could swear he saw the carriage dipping slightly to the right as he did so. Pierre, he vaguely remembered his name.

'He wouldn't have asked if he knew!' Porthos snapped back. He reigned himself in as Athos gave him a look, choosing to roll his eyes and stare ahead as the Red Guard continued.

'People say there was raiders that did it...' He growled, putting on a voice more suited to children's stories around a campfire.

'I fawt it was Spanish soldiers?' A voice filtered through from the inside of the carriage.

'Shut up, I'm telling them the story!' The Red Guard yelled, momentarily putting his head back in the carriage to admonish his friend.

'Well, this is going to be fun...' Aramis muttered under his breath, exchanging a look with d'Artagnan.

'So-' the Red Guard muttered as he resurfaced. 'Raiders. They came one night when the lady of the manor was alone...' He stopped to shudder, before yelping in pain as the carriage fell into a dip in the road, causing his head to hit the side of it.

'Yes yes, keep going!' Athos growled, tiring of the story. He had heard it many times before, and knew how it ended, as did everyone present apart from the Gascon at his side. Just because it was spoken many times made it no more true.

'Alright!' The Red Guard retorted, training angry eyes at Athos, who pointedly ignored them. 'The lady of the manor was alone when they came- they ignored her pleas and killed her and the staff in cold blood. No survivors.' The man still paused for effect despite Athos' angry sigh. 'Her husband and brothers came back from an overnight hunt- when they saw what happened they went crazy; they ran their horses ragged all night to find the raiders. Soon they found the ringleaders... slaughtered them where they stood. Then the husband came back to the house and, overcome with grief and shame at not being able to save his wife, killed himself next to her corpse.'

D'Artagnan whistled lowly as the Red Guard finished his story. 'So, what is haunted by?' He asked, looking to the musketeers.

'Nothing.' Athos spoke with finality. 'Its an old house with a torrid past. Nothing more.'

'You say that, but-' the Red Guard started, but the leader of the Musketeers cut across him.

'I do say that, and I will hear nothing more of this matter until we get there. Aramis has a report to write, and we have to investigate. We will find nothing untoward, and we will go on our way.' He growled, and they fell into a silence bar the Red Guard muttering under his breath and ducking his head back into the carriage.

After many minutes of quiet riding, they turned a corner; lined by high trees that sent dappled light onto their faces, with great lawns spread as far as the eye could see, the house stood.

'Wow...' Aramis whispered, looking up at the huge building in awe. 'Now this is a house.'

'Come on,' Athos said, feeling unease permeate his body. He shook it off as the musketeers now led the caravan along the gravelled path. They got off their horses and stood, hands on hips, looking up at the most foreboding looking house they could ever imagine.

It was made of dark, stained wood; it was almost black in its finish. Three rambling stories rose into the air, with a barn, hollow and decaying, to its right, and to its left was a ramshackle outhouse like building. Curving round to the back was a garden, overgrown and tangled with weeds and a large husk of trunk from a fallen tree- bordering that, and snaking vastly into the horizon was an immense lake, the waters as dark as ink in the fading light of day.

One of the red guards gave a low whistle, before chuckling as he grabbed his cloth bag from the back of the carriage and came to stand next to Athos.

'Spooky, eh?' He muttered, voice light. 'Let's hope we don't come across anything too scary- Lord knows you musketeers wouldn't be able to take it!'

'You know full well there's noting here, Pierre.' Athos' voice was hard. 'If you and your buddies take it upon yourselves to make something happen here, you can be assured the King will know.' He turned to face the red guard, who had placed an impassive mask on his face, which infuriated him more.

'If anything happens, I will know it is you. This is a folly mission we have been sent on. You will obey my orders, is that clear?'

'Hey, you can't-'

'You've come here to stir trouble!' Athos growled. 'Do not deny it- that is your sole purpose here!' Both men turned as they heard Porthos whistle from somewhere in front of them. 'Oi! You coming in or what?'

'Yeah!' The red guard shouted back. 'I want to be the first to catch the ghost!' He added with a laugh, barging past Athos and catching his shoulder as he did so.

The musketeer sighed as he watched him amble down the path and enter the house. Lanterns and candles were being lit in holders that had been dormant and empty for near on forty years. The twinkling shone through the windows, casting orange light onto the darkening lawns beyond them.

With a resigned expression Athos too began the slow walk to the house, now shivering in the night air. He hoped this would be over with soon, but knowing the red guards, he was sure the trouble was just beginning...


End file.
